Cath shook her head, and this time it just meant that she was confused. “What do you mean?”
“I mean…” Levi leaned forward, hands still fisted in his pockets. “I mean, I spent four months trying to kiss you and the last six weeks trying to figure out how I managed to fuck everything up. All I want now is to make it right, to make you see how sorry I am and why you should give me another chance. And I just want to know—are you rooting for me? Are you hoping I pull this off?”
Cath’s eyes settled on his, tentatively, like they’d fly away if he moved.
She nodded her head.
The right side of his mouth pulled up.
“I’m rooting for you,” she whispered. She wasn’t even sure he could hear her from the bed.
Levi’s smile broke free and devoured his whole face. It started to devour her face, too. Cath had to look away.
*
That’s how she ended up with hundred-watt Levi. Sitting on her bed and grinning like everything was going to be just fine.
She felt like telling him to slow down—that it wasn’t fine. She hadn’t forgiven him yet, and even though she was probably going to, she still didn’t trust him. She didn’t trust anyone, and that was a problem. That was a fundamental problem.
“You should take off your coat,” Cath said instead.
Levi unzipped his jacket and shouldered out of it, setting it on her bed. He was wearing a sweater she’d never seen before. An olive green cardigan with pockets and leather buttons. She wondered if it was a Christmas present.
“C’mere,” he said.
Cath shook her head. “I’m not ready for ‘c’mere.’”
Levi reached out, and she went still—but he was just reaching toward her desk, for her laptop. He picked it up and held it. “I’m not gonna do anything,” he said. “Just come here.”
“Is that your best line? ‘I’m not gonna do anything’?”
“I know that sounded stupid,” he said, “but you make me nervous. Please.” The ultimate magic word. Cath was already standing up. She kicked off her boots and sat twelve inches away from him on the bed. If she made Levi nervous, he made her catatonic.
He set the computer in her lap.
When she looked up to his eyes, he was smiling. Nervously.
“Cather,” he said, “read me some fanfiction.”
“What? Why?”
“Because. I don’t know where else to start. And it makes things easier. It makes … you easier.” Cath raised her eyebrows, and he shook his head, agitating his hair with one hand. “That sounded stupid, too.”
Cath opened her laptop and turned it on.
This was crazy. They should be talking. She should be asking questions, he should be apologizing—and then she should be apologizing and telling him what a bad idea it was for them even to be talking.
“I don’t remember where we left off,” she said.
“Simon had just touched Baz’s hand, and it was cold.”
“How can you possibly remember that?”
“All of my reading brain cells go to remembering things instead.”
Cath opened up the Word doc and scrolled through it. “‘Baz’s hand was cold and limp,’” she read out loud. “‘When Simon looked closer, he realized that the other boy was asleep.…’” Cath looked up again. “This is weird,” she said. “Isn’t this weird?”
Levi had turned sideways to face her. His arms were folded, and his shoulder was pushed into the wall. He smiled at her and shrugged.
Cath shook her head again, wasn’t sure what she meant by it, then looked down at the computer and started to read.
Simon was tired, too. He wondered if there was an enchantment in the nursery that made you sleepy. He thought about all the little babies, the toddlers—about Baz—waking up to a room full of vampires. And then Simon fell asleep.
When he woke up, Baz was sitting with his back to the fire, staring up at the rabbit.
“I decided not to kill you in your sleep,” Baz said without looking down. “Happy Christmas.”
Simon rubbed his eyes and sat up. “Thanks?”
“Have you tried any spells?”
“On what?”
“The hares.”
“The letter didn’t say to spell them. It just said to find them.”
“Yes,” Baz said impatiently. They must not have slept long—Baz still looked tired. “But presumably the sender knows you’re a magician and assumes you might actually consider using magic from time to time.”
“What kind of spells?” Simon asked, glancing up at the sleeping rabbit.
“I don’t know.” Baz waved his white-tipped wand in the air. “Presto chango.”
“A changing spell? What are you trying to do?”
“I’m experimenting.”
“Didn’t you say I should do more research before barreling forward into danger?”
“That was before I’d stared at this damnable rabbit for half the night.” Baz flicked his wand. “Before and after.”
“Before and after only works on living things,” Simon said.
“Experimenting. Cock-a-doodle-doo.” Nothing happened.